


All forth, Dreadfort

by p_totel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Inspired by Hadestown, Kidnapping, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:27:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27841489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_totel/pseuds/p_totel
Summary: Once upon a time there was a railroad lineDon't ask where, brother, don't ask when,It was the road to Hell, it was hard times,It was a world of gods...and men.Or, in other words: Jeyne as Eurydice, Catelyn as Persephone, Roose as Hades, Theon as Orpheus and Ramsay......as Ramsay.
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Roose Bolton/Catelyn Tully Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Jeyne Poole
Comments: 14
Kudos: 24





	1. End of the Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summer is ending. Catelyn has to go back to her husband, and feasts have to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hadestown au. Presenting: Catelyn as Persephone, Roose as Hades, Jon as Hermes, Theon as Orpheus, and Jeyne as: Eurydice. And Ramsay Bolton. As Ramsay.

The summer nights were warm and filled with laughter. Dance. Crickets. Birds still singing in the distance, confused by men and women alike delighting in feasts of fruit and meat; shiny goblets confusing the flocks. Wine that spilled from them flowed like a honeyed river - so sweet and rich; truly fitting for a happy feast like this one.

Everyone laughed and sang: and so did Catelyn. Perhaps few years ago she would've found such picture of bacchanalian indulgence and banquet which was just-a-few-pieces-of-clothes-away from an orgy distasteful and offensive, but that was it, wasn't it? Years.  
Years change so many things.

"And now - a toast! To the bride and the groom!" a young man laughed and lifted his cup, wine spilling over the goblet's edges - and the entire crowd went wild, clapping and shouting and laughing.  
Young man in blue rose to his feet, his lovely but shy bride following him, and they gave a little bow to the guests. They were both glowing with happiness. The crowd threw rice in the air and the bride laughed, trying to cover herself with veil once again.

Theon Greyjoy and Jeyne Poole were getting married.

Catelyn tastefully rose a goblet to their name and smiled, like a mother blessing two children. Greyjoy nodded at her with a wild grin and pulled his bride closer. The Young Wolf on his right side rose to his feet and gave his mate a tight hug - saying his congratulations.  
But when the Stark boy sat back down, in his eyes Catelyn noticed something that was nowhere to be found in Theon's.

Worry, fear, and insecurity.  
Winter was coming.

They locked eyes for a second and she parried his look. She knew the young man was right but she firmly decided she will not think about that now. She rose her cup and drank the wine.  
Her glare was full of spite.  
***

Theon carried Jeyne to their little cottage - well, he stumbled and swayed in good spirits, flushed with wine and sweet fruit. The crowd had only let them go when Theon insisted. Most of them simply remained at the feast, still talking and cackling as they made jokes about the archer and his newly wed wife.

"Careful, you'll drop me!" Jeyne laughed and grabbed on Theon's broad shoulders as tightly as she could. Her husband was drunk - that much she knew, and well - the wine made her head dizzy and floaty as well. And everything was so funny. And everything was so beautiful.

"I won't drop you. Don't you trust me?" Greyjoy laughed and awkwardly repositioned her as he tried to open the door. She gave a playful scream and buried her head in his neck, giggling. There were still flowers in her hand, remains of the wedding bouquet. The old arrangment was thrown away for next lucky girl to catch, and this one was handed to her, filled only with peach flowers. A cloth of nectarines was safely fluffed between the leaves.  
For good life, fortune, and fertility.

"I trust you." she whispered, "Of course I trust you."

The door finally gave in and he stumbled forward, almost toppling over, but bed securely caught the pair.  
The shock from near fall lasted for a second and then they both broke into laughter.

"You almost dropped me!"  
"But I didn't!"  
"You almost did!"

"I didn't drop you." he positioned himself above her and spread her legs. The wine made her so warm, and she knew this would never be like any other girls he had ever bedded before her. She was special. This was special.  
"I fell down _with_ you." Theon looked at her, this time more seriously. Like a poet. His eyes had power of spinning people around. If anyone knew - it was her. "Dropping you would have meant I stayed up and just let you fall." he leaned over and kissed her neck, his hands travelling up her waist.

"Wait!" she suddenly shouted and sat up, grabbing the bouquet. "The nectarines. We need to consume them. For children." she intently said.

"Why?" He pushed her back down and laughed, lifting her dress up once again, "I prefer peaches. And you happen to have one just here." his hand travelled down between her legs and squeezed at the flesh.

She laughed too, the bouqet forgotten, and gave herself fully.  
***

Catelyn also ate fruit once. Perhaps that was the biggest mistake of her entire life. It was time to take a leave - the young crowd could entertain themselves just fine without her presence. The blues took over her so she quietly rose from the table, exchanged a few gentle smiles with the wild bunch and retreated in dignified silence.  
She shared a longing look with the big moon, it's light flowing down. Like a lovely river. River of gold. 

Where she was going, there would be no summer, no moon, no sun - no seasons, nothing. Only darkness illuminated by ever-present fire and wails of workers, and glistens of their sweat.  
There would be no fruit, aside from the damned one.

She remembered (sometimes with bitter anger, sometimes with loving memory) how her husband pushed each little red seed in her mouth, and how it doomed her forever. And how it didn't matter back then at all - that she will be tied to him to the end of the time. She wanted to be tied to him for eternity, to share his bed, to have his kiss every night.

"Lady Catelyn!" she heard a call and turned around.  
A young man finally caught up to her. When he finally managed to run up to her, his breath barely worked up, she was met with those familiar eyes - deep blue like a river, but stranded in the cold, unwelcoming North.  
The boy of auburn hair with a direwolf.

Well, not a boy anymore, for sure - she could see it in those same eyes and the crown he wore on his head. The glistening silver thing seemed to press him down like a grave weight. She was sure it was - the winter was coming, and the young man was to handle the famine and the harsh cruelty of it all for the first time in his life.  
After his father, old Ned died, the entire responsibility of North fell on the shoulders of his firstborn - Robb Stark.

While his friend from the islands drank and laughed, the young king had more important business and worries. It was impressive he even managed to look sort-of jolly at the feast, at least enough to fool his best friend...  
which wasn't that hard, from what Catelyn knew about Theon Greyjoy. Ages ago she would judge the naive youth but now she wanted to think only of that careless joy, and not of...  
the burdens that were coming.

"Yes?" she asked as gently as she could, blinking to chase the distracting thoughts away.  
"I am sure you have heard the news." Robb answered seriously.  
"My condolonces." she nodded, the question obviously alluding at his father's passing, "It just didn't feel right to express them on their wedding day."

The man seemed to insecurely hunch for a second. She put a hand on his shoulders to calm him and he rose his head once again, their eyes locking.

"Thank you."  
"It was a wonderful feast." she commented, looking once again at the bountiful life around her. Empty words and empty praises.  
"One of the last ones to come." the young king pressed on.

So that was what he wanted to talk about.

"Lady-."  
"No."  
"If you would just-."  
"No."

The man sighed and straightened his shoulders, shaking her hand off.  
"Catelyn Tully - our Lady of the spring, our Lady of the life that blooms." he pressed on.

"Our Lady, Mistress of the house." she coldly stopped him.  
Better not to give him any hope.

"Please. My men will die." Robb bit his lip and took a step closer. She had to hand it to him - it was bold, to ask a goddess for help like this, and to press on even when she denied his requests. "Indeed, the food is plenty now but-." he showed around at the trees. Only a few leaves were starting to change their tips to the yellow color.

"You should enjoy yourself while you can, Young king. This won't last forever." she said, her answer insecure and a weak attempt to cover the truth.

"I know. I am not begging you to stay the entire winter, My Lady-... but... only a bit longer - at least during the autumn. Autumns are short. Yet, what your Kindness could do for us-."

"When my husband calls me," she rose her chin, "I go. It is written so in the Wheel of the Time. Forever."

"A kidnapper." Robb muttered and locked their eyes. "You were supposed to marry another man, My Lady."

Catelyn literally whipped him with a look.  
"Be careful-."

"My father has told me." Robb grabbed her hand, "What winters looked like before your... _husband_ has claimed you." the word was uttered with true disdain. "Winters were always harsh, but men had autumns to prepare. To hunt the animals, to save and prepare the meat, to dry it. We cannot get ready in the summer, My Lady - the meat rots fast without shadows to keep it proper." he tugged at her hand more, his eyes burning with determined fire, "And- in Autumn, with you here, the prey was more bountiful. Men will die. You cannot tell me your heart yearns for the man who _stole_ you from this soil."

Catelyn stared at the young man in shock, her entire body going rigid. She fiercely pulled her hand out of his hold and stepped back, her teeth baring between her lips.  
"I think you are forgetting your place, your _majesty_." she hissed. "My heart holds nothing but true love for my Lord Husband. And you would be wise to stop this... disrespect unless you'd like to pay him a premature visit."

Her voice was so cold and high as she said those words, but nothing could hide the light waver of them. Words she had to say in any case but - a shiver of doubt could still be heard and she knew she didn't do well enough to hide it.  
Robb moved away and nodded. His forehead was darkened with something Catelyn could only pin as... judgement.

"You were right. I apologize for my insolence." he said, voice measured out. "I forgot my place, My Lady. I hope you will not hold it against me in future."

"All is well." she swallowed and waved her hand to send the novice King of The North away.

The boy once again gave her a long look before he turned on the heel and left, his step firm on the rocky ground of the forest - but tormented, by what was to come.  
She knew exactly what he felt like.

***  
Autumn was beautiful.  
Jeyne loved it. It was perhaps her favourite season; when leaves would turn yellow and red, and everything was colored. When apples and pears were starting to grow on the trees and Theon would pick her up on his horse to reach them, and when he would shoot a rabbit from a mile away. And when she would collect the mushrooms while waiting for him to return with a meal.

The autumn - the warm one with lingers of summer was perhaps the most beautiful of all.

But she was the first to notice the signs of _that_ autumn leaving, and the _other one_ arriving - the serious and sullen prophet of what was to come. The second part of the autumn - messenger which came with winds blowing, the leaves disappearing one by one from the trees, the branches more and more naked with each gust.

Her husband didn't seem concerned at all, and he still laughed, and he still drank, and he still went out with his bow and arrow. But the hunt was getting poorer and poorer with each leave. From whole deers which they couldn't eat alone, from wild hogs whose tusks he would sell on the market or hang like a trophy they downgraded to rabbits and squirrels... well fed in the beginning, but thinner and lean muscle harder than previously. No matter how long Jeyne cooked them, they were still hard to chew.

She noticed her husband's mood changing and stings of frustration poisoning his heart. His hands were less and less on her in the bed, his cheery smile with that lovely tooth gap showing up rarer and rarer. There was a hardened look in his eyes - like he had gotten more detached over night. He went from a youthful tree to a stone within a month.

But whenever she would ask if something's the matter - he would say 'no'.  
And at the beginning he would laugh it off and say: "No, of course not, we will get through it, we will be fine!" and she trusted him.

But then his no's became firmer and colder. He was building walls around himself, not wanting to show weakness, and Jeyne was getting more and more desperate, not knowing what to do. Whatever she said or did was not getting to him.  
He became isolated and detached, his pride not letting him say anything. Everything that was wrong was kept tightly in his soul.

Sometimes, Jeyne sobbed in her sleep. The winter was getting closer by each day.

"Theon. Please." one day she sat at the table across him as he chewed on the stew with dark look in his eyes, "It's time to let go. Woods are empty. We need to find work somewhere else. Something-."

"No." he cut her off.

 _It's been enough of that,_ she thought and gathered courage in her meek heart.  
"You can't hunt anymore. The night is falling earlier and earlier, the animals hide. It's hopeless, Theon."  
His jaw twitched.  
"I could- I could get a job at Winterfell. As a maid." she bit her lip, "And you... maybe... maybe Lord Edmure is looking for hands at work-."

"No!" Theon suddenly roared darkly and Jeyne squeaked and flinched, drawing back from him. His hand flew in anger over the table in a second, and it swept the pot, the plates, the stew with hellish force. Everything was knocked to the floor.

She stared at her husband in disbelief, her heart speeding up in fear as she tried to still it. The ladle clackered at the wooden floor.  
The man in front of her almost didn't look like Theon at all.

His breath was heaved and hard, deep like that of an angry animal. Jeyne had never feared him - not until now.

"I am. Not. Working as. A common. Worker!" he shouted and got up, his fist slamming the table. She drew in, her chest shaking. Theon turned away and started pacing around the room, like a beast in a cage, the veins on his neck protruding in anger and infernal fury. "I am the best archer these lands have ever known." he turned to her like a wind and stormed into her face, his nose an inch from hers.

He looked like a demon for a second, spit hanging from his chin and eyes wide, wild, vicious and corrupted with ire.

They stayed like that for a few moments while he breathed heavily. And then, at last, he collected himself, swallowed, and pulled away.

"I am not working as a common muscle." he repeated, this time more quiet, his shoulders still shaking with revulsion. "You are not working as a common maid. I can provide for both of us."

Jeyne nodded in fear and let her head fall down.  
***

Catelyn stood at the crossroads with exasperation. He was coming. The autumn was just beginning, just few days before the equinocy - sure, but climate was changing.  
Her bags were packed next to her feet.  
She took everything she could with herself - dried fruit, fresh fruit that wouldn't rot due to her presence, sweet wine... for herself. Not for him. Her first autumns, she joyfully shared it with her husband, drinking from the same cup, laughing, fully enamored. But autumns passed, winters passed, tides changed, times changed...  
Wind blew stronger and stronger.

At last, the door of the Underworld opened.

A huge crack in the ground roared with fire.  
He came for her this year, in vivo.  
What an honour.

First she saw a young man dressed in black crow feathers, his face as sullen as ever. The Guide of the Unfortunate. She scowled at him.  
Jon Snow. How she hated that omen of bad luck. He was an ominous messenger, and he never seemed to express anything other than annoyed discontent. When he was given this duty, it was not what he expected, apparently, so he decided to make it everyone else's problem.

From the tunnel in the ground, a big carriage trucked on, dragged by black horses. Their hooves were glistening with flames whenever they would hit the ground with a loud clang, and their skin was hanging in pieces from rotten meat.

Roose Bolton, the Leech Lord of the Underworld was here.

He stepped out as regal as always.  
His skin was pale, almost greyish - fitting for a man who never saw the sun... Who hasn't seen the sun since those golden and happy year they had shared together. But his chin was risen high and his eyes - small and pale were as bright as ever, with no clouds or fog ever having passed through them.  
It made Catelyn flinch - but she steadied herself. She had to be strong.

He approached her, his pink cloak dragging after him and placed a kiss on her cheek. She stubbornly turned her head to the other side.

"You came too early." she hissed.  
He watched her for a second before pulling away.  
"I didn't." his voice was still, "The season did."

All she did was scoff. Her eyes flicked to him for a second. There he stood - as unbothered as ever, his face unreadable mask. Cold as a stone. It was like he didn't even care for her behaviour - like he didn't even care for her feelings.

"I missed you." he said and she couldn't tell if it was honest or just another empty formality. Roose Bolton was full of formalities. He reached to put hand around her waist and pull her closer, but she remained grounded in the same spot.  
She turned away even more stubbornly this time and crossed her hands on the chest.

"Well." he said. "The carriage is ready, My Wife. Home awaits you."

She gave him another angry look and let her arms fall down. Why wasn't he bothered? Why wasn't he angry? Why wasn't he at least shouting or-.  
Jon Snow apathetically opened the door of the carriage and she stepped in, not without giving him a stern look, full of judgement. Goddamn Crow. _We can't all get what we want in life, Jon Snow._

"Thank you." she hissed and positioned herself on the soft pillows. Jon half-nodded, half-shruged, and most of all didn't seem too phased by it. Every year the same story. He has seen this scene enough times - with small variations from year to year. Like a ballet.

Roose entered as well and relieved Jon of his duty with a wave of hand.  
The carriage moved.

The hellhorses didn't need the rider - they knew the way home. Roose's word was enough to get them in a light step around towards Dreadfort. Through their teeth, smoke and steam blew. Their hooves echoed off the steel rails which brought men and women alike to the Dread Realm in the train of the damned.  
Roose stared out the window with disinterest; nothing around them but darkness of the underground tunnel. Catelyn didn't say anything.

She simply stared at him with fury - but the anger seemed to evaporate with each second, her stone-cold look slowly being replaced with softened one.  
Did he not care at all, if she denied him like that? Did he have someone else in his bed? Was she just a name in the book now?  
Her eyes slowly filled with wet tears but she decided that no - she won't cry in front of him.

Times used to be happier. There was something exciting when he stole her, and there was love when she straddled him in the Underworld gardens under olive trees, and there was laughter, and trust, and warmth-.  
She wasn't a fool. The darkness in Roose's heart could've never been glossed over but... that was what made him so fascinating, what seduced her - like he was looking in some dark place in her own soul.  
Up on the ground she had to pretend - to stiffle that spot of blackness and decorate the world with flowers and song... and never let it show.

Not to her mother, not to Ned, not to anyone.  
The bitterness and snake fangs she had somewhere deep inside.  
But she could show it to Roose.

And now there was a deep row between them, deep and dark like that tunnel of his, like that factory of his - like that heart of his.

Her eyes got wetter and wetter but she blinked the tears away.  
The carriage trucked on in silence.


	2. Brave Danny Flint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn comes home. Roose is practically Henry Ford. Ramsay lives for his job. Jeyne makes some bad decisions.

Catelyn stilled her breath and exhaled. Her room waited for her as she had left it. Well, not exactly perhaps; the bed was made, the sheets were fresh... And without guessing she knew he was the one to make it. The corners were just a bit too tight to ascribe them to a common servant, the sheet aligned just a bit too pedantly.  
No servants were there because the roses she had left over the summer in her room were still there. They had withered, of course. Nothing grew in Dreadfort.

But if servants were the ones to clean the room, they would've thrown them away. Roose wouldn't.

She sighed and gently touched the dry petals and watched them bloom once again, red and pink... Bolton colors. The cruel and cold ones now. And certain flowers purplish and blue, hers.

Roose even laid her out a dress.

She took a look at it, felt the brocate under her fingers and lifted it.  
\---  
The door opened before Catelyn - slowly, heavily. She rose her chin higher.  
And she stepped in.

The factory floor was lined with long steel tables on which workers hammered and worked on forging the steel, the armours, the weapons. All of their heads were casted down, lost in their misery and slavery, eternal work with no pay and no redemption.  
When she stepped in, the heads finally rose and looked at her.

Something like first glint of hope, in months, shined in their eyes and mouth parted.  
She smiled.  
They always welcomed her so warmly, happy to see The Mistress come home. Her husband was cruel, and she forgave no crimes - but with her, flowers bloomed even underground. They knew she hid smell of grass in her pockets. Specks of sunshine.

She gracefully stepped forward and men started whispering, their smiles those of martyrs.  
"Lady Catelyn is here..." "Look, Lady has come home!" "Our Mistress of the House..." "Lady Catelyn." "Lady Catelyn." "Lady Catelyn." "Welcome home."  
Their greetings were soft and hopeful, mouth crooked in despair. As she passed, she touched each of them, enjoying the looks of their faces. It's obvious they hadn't seen hope since they've arrived to Dreadfort.  
Silent chatter started spreading - just above whisper.

"Khm."

Every single pair of eyes went wide in terror. The heads immediately turned away from their Lady and hurried back to hammering and forging.

Catelyn looked up.

At the bridge, above the working room, stood him. Ramsay.  
Roose's bastard son. Well, not a bastard anymore - a legitimized one.

The boy stood there with a huge grin on his face, teeth pointed like that of an animal, and at his feet three hellhounds stood - beasts blowing steam from their noses and fire ready to be spit from their mouth. They growled. It was obvious the only thing containing them in place was the bastard - the foreman to Roose's factory empire.

"Mother." he purred and walked forward. Catelyn stepped backward. There was a dark, dark aura to the boy and the sweetness of his voice.  
"Ramsay." she acknowledged him stiffly.

One man tried to turn his head around to take a look at "Roose's Whip" as they called him, and a hellbeast snarled. Terrified, the man turned around, his breath speeding up.

"There, there. Good girl." Ramsay brought a hand to his hound and the animal growled - but obeyed. "It's important nobody slacks at work." he said offhandedly to Catelyn and walked on.  
Ramsay was always unbearable - a terror - barely supervised one unfortunately... but while he was a child, terrorizing Dreadfort was one thing. Now, tall and huge - his body enlarged by a giant black and red cape - it was obvious he thrived off power. When he stepped, even ground shook from fear. When his hounds walked by his side, the floor melted, becoming lava under fangs of his girls as he called them.

"Mother, please." he gracefully descended down the stairs and took Catelyn under her arm, "I am so glad to see you." he smiled. Even though Catelyn tried to instictively move away - she couldn't. It was a stage play of a son and his stepmother, performed for the workers. Her husband would be displeased if scandals occured.  
So she let him lead her.

"As you can see," he showed around to men and women of sunken faces, pale and ghostly, "the productivity and morale have increased. Haven't they?" He put a hand on a random girl and she shook.  
"Yes, m'lord." she whispered and continued working on a spear's end.

Roose made a revolution in production by making all the workers do one specific part of the item production - one man chopped the branches, then another man took the leaves off them, then it was passed to another which smoothened it out, then to a girl which waxed it, then another one would add a spear to it, then a third one would sharpen it, then another boy would add feathers...

The output Roose's tactic produced was insane. Tywin Lannister was pleased, for sure.

Catelyn hated it all. Well - hated was not the correct word. She feared it. She feared her husband's darkness and his lack of care; the ability to shrug off his son's truly gruesome behaviour and let it go unpunished. No. He even promoted him to a foreman.  
Maybe it wasn't moral, but it sure was practical.

"I hope you had a pleasant summer, Mother." Ramsay said softly. "It is such pity. You being in all this darkness, sweat, grime..." he sighed, and she could hear how pleased he was. "No Sun, no Moon, no fruit..."

"Well. You have to appreciate what you have, Ramsay." she smiled, her eyes narrowing. "Summer is short. But mind not. Your Father illuminates my life."  
There was just a slight twitch in Ramsay's arm as she said that.

He didn't reply and they walked to the end of the hall without a word, battlefield coming to a stall. Behind the door, Roose resided, doing his papers and making trades, checking the goods and wagons, and... The door opened.

Her husband stood over a table, Tywin Lannister at his right side, both of them looking over a parchment with numbers. Roose rose his eyes.  
Nobody would have noticed it except for her and Ramsay - but an approving smile, just a little draw of corner of his lips, appeared on his face and he nodded, inviting them in.  
It was the dress, Catelyn noted, his favourite one. Black with red outlining, with flowers that looked like blood. What a perfect union.

"Please, sit. We'll be done in a minute."  
"Lady Catelyn," Tywin looked at her, "It's a wonder to see you. As always."  
"Lord Tywin." she bowed her head.

It would be an understatement to say Tywin Lannister shined. He literally illuminated the space with light. Golden rings, golden clothes, a big long golden cloak decorated with lions, with a huge symbol of Sun... a powerful ally. And an evil one at that.  
She wanted to say it was him who corrupted her husband, but all of that was far from truth.

"I think that concludes it all." Tywin nodded and got up. He strode forward and took Catelyn's hand - and pressed in a tasteful little kiss. "Roose," he turned around and gave the last look at his business partner, "I'll be seeing you next blue moon."

Roose simply nodded. "Ramsay," he spoke, "See Lord Tywin out. Keep in mind he has a lovely granddaughter." he drawled out and Ramsay simply gave a cold smile and turned around to show the older man out. Tywin passed him with a knowing look and the door closed behind them, leaving only Catelyn and Roose in the room.

There was something holy about the tension that followed. Perhaps something profound. She was once again in a gilded cage, with someone who sometimes looked like stranger but... sometimes like her own twin flame, knowing her inside out. Yet there was a space between them.

"I see Ramsay is making his way well around in that new cloak you've given him." at last she spoke and stepped forwards. "Perhaps too well-."

"He is not a nice boy, dear. But he _is_ effective." Roose gave his papers one long look and left them on the table before approaching his wife. "Niceness is not a necessity for a foreman."

"Men fear him." her voice trembled just a bit as he put his hands around her waist. "They're hopeless. Scared."

"And they're working." Roose concluded.  
The voice of a stone.

The ire overtook her - eyes seeing red - and she grabbed his hands and shoved him away. "You don't- you don't even care!" she shouted in disgusted voice, her breath speeding up. "Not about them," she pointed her finger at the closed door, "or about them!" she pointed it to the ceiling and the ground above.

"If you only gave me a month more, more people would survive. Men could get ready for winter. You just want me here to - what? I don't even know what you want!"

Roose calmly watched her storm around the room. Suddenly she felt like Ramsay; throwing a fit while that man just watched her waiting to finish her 'petty outburst' which to her was _serious_. "People are dying. Because you're selfish." Catelyn hissed.

"New people will be born." Roose shrugged and once again took a look at his papers, "And perhaps winters after the next one will be easier to survive. We'll see."  
He looked like a bored chess player, waiting for something to happen on the board. Did she really marry such darkness?

"Winter is coming." she whispered.  
"It indeed is, dear." Roose volounteered with a tone she wasn't sure was - apathetic - or serious.  
***

The winds blew harsher each day. They carried cold air, they carried leaves, they carried pieces of houses and planks of cottages in the woods - winds slammed branches against windows and tore them from trees. Jeyne stared in terror each day through her windows as the snow fell, and fell, and fell.

And Theon was still not coming to his senses.

_"You're best friends with Robb Stark! You're lying to me if you say we can't ask for Winterfell shield!" she screamed in despair one night at him.  
"I am not asking him for anything." her husband stubbornly hissed. "This is my first winter outside of Winterfell - not as a hostage, not as a ward - and I am my own man now."  
"You won't be your own man for very long if this continues! We are starving, Theon!" _

Her shrieks were always getting more and more frustrated.  
His pride was too grave to move.  
And food was scarcer and scarcer. Even the rabbits and the birds hid well enough, determined to survive the snow coat.

Theon was given rule over a few fishing villages - but collecting any kind of tax was impossible. Even riding was impossible now.  
So Theon once, in heated argument, while she was begging him to do something, exited the house - grabbed his sword - and cut their mare's head off.

_"There." he said with disgust, "Now we have something to eat."_

Jeyne loved him. She truly did. Theon wasn't _her_ enemy. He was his own.  
Way to Hell is paved with good intentions... but she would rather have him mad than starve. He was out on a hunt again, their horse dead - but what did it even matter when riding was a death sentence? - so Jeyne sat on the bed and slipped her boots on.

She grabbed the coat, tightened the laces of the hood - and exited in the cold, cold forest.  
***  
It was already dusk when she found the inn she was looking for. Theon won't be home yet; perhaps she could go out and come back before he returned. Just a coin, she thought - just one coin to buy us some bread, some wine, some food. Some peace of mind.

The inn was warm, illuminated by roaring fire - and not a place for a lady at all, it seemed. The noise was feast-like - wildlings and hunters and criminals all in one place, heartily drinking. The laughter could be heard to The Wall itself, it seemed.  
_"And then I asked her to show me her cunt-"  
"Yeah? And? Did she?"  
"Look, it was so red I thought it was burning. And it was cold, a man has to warm up, you know?"_

She passed the group of men and got to the bar.  
"Excuse me?" she whispered. "I'm looking for... Littlefinger? Is that right?" she sneaked a glance at the annoyed bartender, obviously sick to the bone of crass customers and their loud chatters.

"He isn't here." the man growled and continued scrubbing a particularly dirty beer glass, "Do you think he hangs out in establishments like _this_? You've heard wrong, little girl. Littlefinger isn't some common muscle, sitting in dirty inns."  
The glass wasn't obeying so the man spat at it and tried once again to clean it.

"But-. Can you tell me where I can find him?" Jeyne leaned over, hood slipping slightly off her face. "I- I've heard he could..."

"You can do his job even without a pimp." the man frowned. "Just look at all the customers. There you go, take whichever you want, I'll only take 15% of provision. Which trust me, is far less than Baelish would've taken."

Jeyne stood there, confused, her eyes wide and wet. "...What?"

"Well, yer a whore, right? Looking for job? There you go. The field is yours." the man showed around with the glass, almost hitting her.  
She turned around and surveyed the lot of sweaty, huge men with beards and missing teeth. She clutched her cloak tighter and took a step back.

"No!" she gave the bartender a shocked look. "I thought he was-... Going to give me a job or- I've heard he helps people. With money." she bit her lip.  
So what if she borrowed a bit? She'd repay it when Theon could hunt again and she could weave once branches grew thin and bendable again.

"Well _that's_ the work he can offer you." the man shrugged. "So. What's it going to be?"

Jeyne's mouth was slightly apart and she took another step back, almost falling over. What kind of hellpit did she descend into?

"Hey." she heard a voice from behind and turned, "Leave the lady alone."

It came from a young man with a smirk and a huge dark cloak with red fur hanging over its neck. Three another men sat with him, drinking and laughing like the rest but - the table was secluded, away from the common mass and their loud cheers.

They looked like wolves - but the biggest one - the leader looked like something entirely else. He wasn't just a common peasant. That was obvious.  
His dark hair and smile of a cat, accompanied with cloak which was obviously of expensive kind. The man had a faint glow of something dark... something which made Jeyne freeze. But he seemed like the only person who could help her.

"Come here." he called her over and she obeyed, her feet heavy. "What are you looking for?"  
"Work." Jeyne swallowed, man's eyes making her feel uneasy, "Work, m'lord."  
The young man nodded and looked at the ceiling.  
"Well. You don't need Littlefinger for that. I can offer you work as well."

"I will not prostitu-" she started, her voice wavering, but the man just stopped her with a move of his hand.  
"Who said about prostitution? Come, sit here. Skinner, make some space. Let the lady in." he patted a little bench. One of ugly men scooted over, and Jeyne took his place - next to the shadowy figure. There was something terrifying about him. Not terrifying as things usually were - scary or like ghouls from old stories... but like it was some dagger with a sharp edge, ready to cut the flesh. She swallowed.

"Do you know who I am?" he leaned over and locked his eyes with hers. She wanted to look away so badly, but she couldn't.  
"N-no."  
"Lord Bolton." the young man spoke out measurely, "which, I imagine, must carry _some_ recognition."

Jeyne squeaked and tried to move away but she couldn't - it felt like she turned to an ice sculpture. _That_ Lord Bolton? For some reason, she always imagined him as an older man, not-...  
He must've noticed her reaction because his lips spread into a thin, sly smile.

"So you do know."

The pack of men snickered like it was some inside joke and Jeyne felt like a prey to their smiles. Like they knew something she didn't.

"I- I apologize, m'lord. Please." her voice was barely above whisper. Theon... Theon, where are you? Why did it have to come to this?

"You're looking for work, I see." he took her hand in his own, big one, clasping it over her slender fingers. "Married?"  
"Yes."  
"Well. Let me guess." he let her go and leaned back, "He is the love of your life, isn't he? Sun, Moon, stars and what not..." he sighed and trailed off, gesturing. "It's love of century, isn't it? But love and flesh are two different things."

Jeyne felt sudden burn of shame. Was being hungry _so_ wrong? She should be like lady in the songs, handle it all with chin held high and her posture stoic but - she was not. She didn't want to die. She wanted to live; and sure, she wanted to live with Theon but... if only they could push through the Winter...

"I have work to give you." the man closed his eyes. "Can you sing?"  
Jeyne nodded. Perhaps she didn't have Sansa's beauty but - she had a good voice.  
"Well then, sing me something." the man pulled out a coin.

Jeyne opened her mouth and soft voice came out:

_Hear you now the sad lament  
Of Brave Young Danny Flint  
Whose parents died of sickness  
When she was not but ten?_

The cat-like man closed his eyes in pleasure and her voice mixed with crass songs of the tavern.

_Oh Danny Flint you'll never escape  
The Fate the Gods have written  
And life must seem the cruelest jape  
Oh Brave Young Danny Flint._

That's where she stopped.  
The man finally opened his icy eyes and clapped. "Lovely. That's what I need you to do. To sing." he got up and tossed a bag of coins at the table.

"You lads have fun." he yawned and put a gentle hand on Jeyne's forearm.  
"Wait-" she choked when he pulled her up, "I need to leave a message. For Theon. For my husband. How long will this take?"

"What? Oh, not long at all. Until the Sun rises. And you'll be paid in gold."

She swallowed and nodded. Perhaps Theon will also swallow his pride when he sees it was necessary.  
On the way out she asked for a piece of parchment to write him a note... in case he looks for her.  
_"See you next dawn, Theon. - Jeyne"_


	3. Down The Stairs

Ramsay led his newest little bird down the snowy road. When he stepped out the tavern, snow was falling heavily, decorating his hair, whitening his dark cloak. He galantly pulled girl's hood up to protect her. These games were just as fun as his usual hunts. They required patience though, and truly - he was not the most patient man ever, but there was something charming in a slow game. In having such a lovely, naive prey right under his wing.

She was too...  
he couldn't exactly put his finger on it. She wasn't too _pretty_ to be hunted and raped - it just seemed like she wouldn't give a fun chase. He doubted she could run fast. But what did he need her fear for? He could smell her shame at leaving her loved husband behind like that.  
Oh, one peck of starvation and the little mouse left her dearie the same moment.

Love is so overrated, Ramsay thought and scoffed mockingly, continuing to gently lead the girl down the road. He will have his fun though. One word down in the Dreadfort and she will kneel and regret and repent and beg and cry for her husband. And Ramsay wouldn't let her ever forget him. He was the advocate and the judge and the girl had to be punished for her "crimes".  
It's not he who thought she committed something atrocious, anyway.  
It was she.

They finally reached the well which marked one of the entrances to mines leading to Dreadfort. Ramsay snapped his fingers.

The ground opened with fire - one little hallway. The man in cloak of dark bird feathers stood inside, his face bland and uninterested.

"Fancy seeing you." Ramsay growled unhappily as he watched Jon Snow stand there like a brooding scarecrow. He didn't need the man to enter and exit as he wished; he was Roose's _son_. But Jon didn't have anything better to do anyway than stand there, keeping the passage. What an unfortunate life. Ned Stark's bastard never got a chance to make it above the ground, so he settled below as "The Gatekeeper". Really, a stupid outpost guard - no matter how fancy the role sounded. In his case, immortality sounded like a curse.

"As well." Jon replied emotionlessly.  
Roose's bastard coming and leaving was a common occurence.  
Not even Jeyne could miss the tension between the two men.

Ramsay stepped forward to pass, and Jon stepped in front of him.  
"Are you not letting me pass?" Ramsay hissed, his entire body tensing. This wasn't a part of the game, and he wouldn't see it ruined.  
"Where is the girl going?" Jon asked.  
"Where the _hell_ does anyone go through these mines?!" Ramsay groaned and Jeyne shivered. "Step aside, _bastard_."

The man in crow-feathered cloak stood tall for a second, like he was thinking something, and then judged it not worth it. He stepped to the side to let Ramsay and his new keychain pass.

"From one to the other," Jeyne thought she heard the dark man whisper, but Ramsay pushed her on.

If he could've, he would had already gotten rid of the damned gatekeeper - but Roose insisted on letting Jon keep the position. The young crow didn't ask or say much; he just judged Ramsay and always dropped the confortations, like he figured it wasn't his place to intervene. He never caused _like, actual_ trouble.

He had seen enough of Ramsay's hunts in much worse state than _Jeyne_ ; from bloody girls dragged in to ones struggling, and this one didn't even lack a strand of hair from her head. 

You could never know what was Ramsay's own will and what Roose's order.  
None of it was Jon's business. He just kept the passage.

"Don't mind him." Ramsay whispered to Jeyne's ear and she shivered. "He's jelaous. Asshole. Just stands there all night, like some deformed bird, pushing his nose into other's business."

Jeyne nodded, a bit scared. Was this how Lord Bolton, the Lord of Dread - spoke? She had no time to dwell on the immaturity of her companion, as they descended down earthy stairs.  
***  
When Theon came home from the hunt, his mood was sour and lousy. The snow got worse while he walked, turning to a proper snowstorm - the huge snowflakes blinding his vision.  
Nothing. He caught nothing that day.

His steps were heavy from the wet boots but he kept pushing on from fury and frustration. He would come home and face Jeyne... perhaps there will be a fight, sure, fights were getting more and more common - and he could understand it but...

He couldn't find the solution.

Well, she had offered plenty of solutions, but none he was ready to accept. To scutter back to Robb's cloak, to Winterfell protection? If only his father had responded to his letters, he could've taken Jeyne away from here and to the Islands... to Harlaw, perhaps. To a more comfortable way of life anyway. He could give her gold, a personal maid, make her a proper Lady.

And now she was starving and it wasn't even _his_ fault. No. It was everyone else's; Robb's for not paying him out more money for all the service he had done, his Father's for not replying, raven's for maybe dying on its way, Winter's for even coming.

"I'm home!" he shouted from the door as he took off his soaked boots in disgust and laid the bow to the side. Usually Jeyne would run over, help him undress, they would share a few moments of mutual anguish, and then she would either offer him dinner and a warm, worried look in her eyes - or a fight would start. She always had enough time to come up with her defense and he would get irritated by her well-standing arguments, and then they would go sleep.

But this time - nothing.

"Jeyne?" he asked, this time quieter as he circled around the kitchen. She was nowhere. His first instinct was fear, thousand scenarios running through his head. Was she dead? Did wolves take her? Did robbers take her? Did she freeze in the snow while foraging? Did she... leave?

He rushed forward and moved the curtains to the pantry - nothing there - turned around, to the living room - none, scrambled upstairs, to their bedroom, hoping he would find her there but - all that waited for him was an empty bed. He held his breath.

Then he saw a little note on his pillow.

"I went to buy some bread and beer - Jeyne"  
He exhaled. Alright. At least she didn't disappear. But - why alone? He looked through the window. The dusk was setlling over the snowy fields and mountains and he frowned. She wasn't back yet.  
***  
Catelyn sighed.

Where did they go wrong?  
Was it because they had no children?

Well. Roose had that vicious bastard. And she... she had Sansa.  
Sansa, lovely Sansa - from a little affair in the Realm of Men. Maybe that's why she held such firm distance - yet some kind of care - for Robb Stark. After all, Sansa was just a little nymph bud which sprouted from Catelyn's adventure with a hero from the human world.

He didn't keep no secret he was already married, but it was war, and...  
Catelyn wasn't a _home-ruiner_. She truly wasn't. She was a _good_ person. But Ned Stark - beautiful Ned, she just - couldn't resist him. It was his hand on hers, and then hers was on his shoulder, and one thing led to another...

It was just a kiss, she thought, just a kiss. Nothing more.

Both she and Roose came into their marriage with children.  
Yet they had none together.  
It sometimes bit her consciousness while she slept - was it her fault? Why didn't Roose want any? Did Roose even want anything? He was tough to figure out, but that mystery and darkness which lured beneath the surface of that stone-cold face was what grabbed her heart in the first place.

Ned was a classic hero from songs and myths. She was a goddess. Of course he couldn't understand certain things.  
Not like Roose could.

Catelyn sighed as she sat down on her bed. Her own bed. Not a common one, not a shared; and she couldn't remember why.  
Would he visit her?  
Why wouldn't she visit him?

The part of her which wanted to reach out and give the branch of peace was immediately stopped by an angry hiss.  
He made her leave the surface early yet he wouldn't say why. He let his bastard run around with the foreman coat and unshackled hounds which sometimes bit at the workers for fun. He let people starve. He let people faint on his factory floors.

Even in her bedroom she could hear their miserable chant spread through the eerie steel labyrinths of Dreadfort.  
She covered her head with the blanket.  
***

Jeyne descended in the underground empire with butterflies in her belly - the butterflies of _terror_. She couldn't see the workers, but she heard clashes of the steel and hammers, clanks from beyond the shiny metal walls.  
Everything was unnaturally light.

Was this the right decision? She followed the man, holding on his strong and big hand, meekly walking, like a scared little mouse. Every sound made her tremble a bit.  
But there was no way back now.

What waits her home? Is it better to starve or to endure this for a day? It felt wrong, but gods - in Jeyne's mind - were always bound, if not by honor, then by law. Theon will be angry and hurt, but he won't be dead when she returns. He will get over it. She will get over this and they will survive the winter.  
When spring returns, everything will be fine. Their romantic song will resume and everything will be forgotten.  
Next winter they will both be smarter. This was just one night, anyway.

The man lead her into an office.

She gave him a confused look.  
"Well," the young man impishly smiled, "There are some papers to sign. They keep up to it. Don't worry." he opened the door and took off her coat. She swallowed and nodded in gratitude. Her little feet in worn out shoes stepped in - fearing they will fall through the floorboards. What if it was all just a trick? She had heard of demons tricking naive men and women for fun.

But no, this was Dreadfort. She knew. No illusion could seem this real.

Lord Bolton hung her coat on a wall hook and she exhaled, relieved. She didn't even realize how hot it was here. She sat on the chair both from exhaustion and discomfort.

"Just a second." he said and started digging through the table drawers. He finally pulled out a handful of papers and licked his lips in satisfaction. "Ah. There it is. Can you write?"

"Y-yes." Jeyne nodded. Even in her voice, she could hear the drumming of her heart. Like a fluttering bird, scared of the cage door closing.

"Good. Here you go." the young man pushed two papers towards her. "Just sign them, here, and here."

She nodded and started reading the documents.

"Don't make me wait." the man quickly interrupted her and she rose her head. "It's just officialities. _Just sign them._ "

She choked on her breath and quickly signed both the parchments.

The man smiled.  
"Beautiful."  
He suddenly rose on his feet and snapped his fingers. "Get up."

She couldn't pinpoint what became different in that second - it was like air shifted. Suddenly, despite the heat of the factory, the air turned so cold she thought she would freeze.

The man grabbed her for shoulders and pushed her out the door, where she almost bumped into another shadowed figure. Her heart jumped in that moment all the way to her throat and she squeaked like a little mouse, falling back into the arms that so strongly held onto her shoulders.

"Ramsay." the voice from the taller figure came crashing down like a dark wave. "What are you doing?"

Jeyne felt the grip stiffen around her.  
She swore she suddenly got drenched in sweat.  
She wanted to ask what was happening, but she couldn't even breathe, let alone form words.

"Father." the man muttered.

"What were you doing in my office?" the taller man frowned both at Jeyne and her - who was he even?

"Just... things. You know. Work things." the younger man bit his lip, his face darkening from something between irritation and embarrassment. His plans fell through.

"Next time I see you pulling japes like this, I'll have your tongue flayed, cut off, and nailed to the walls for everyone to see." the figure in front of Jeyne spoke in a measured out voice.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes... Father." the man behind Jeyne hissed and pushed her forward.

She felt her head spin so fast she thought she would faint then and there. Father? Bolton? Dreadfort? Japes? What did she- what did she do?  
 _Theon,_ she wept in her mind, _Theon, where are you? Theon, help me-_  
But another cold tide washed over her.  
Why would he help her? Why would he ever come to her aid? He set the rules. He told her not to go out. _Not because he hated her,_ she thought in tears, _but because winter is cruel, and she had no idea how cruel it really is._

The tall, sunken in man in front of her measured her out from the feet to the head and at last nodded. "She will do. Put her with the others."

Ramsay - if she caught it right - nodded, his teeth gritted, and shoved her forward, his grip not lessening. She stumbled, almost falling over, but his embrace was too tight for her to topple down and kiss the floor.  
She was urged forward like a piece of livestock, until they reached hard, steel gate. With a screeching sound they opened, and steam spread out. the vapor brought with it smell of the sweat.  
The grime.  
And the blood. 

For a second, she couldn't see. 

But then she heard them.  
Swinging of the hammers.  
Clangs and clings.  
And a somber chant, echoing the hall.

_Low, keep your head, keep your head low  
Oh, you gotta keep your head low  
If you wanna keep your head  
Oh, you gotta keep your head low._

"Good luck singing, sweet girl." the man groaned in irritation, his mood sour and face an angry scowl - and pushed her in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other Starks are Ned's and (?) children, but Sansa is Cat and Ned's. Wanted to make a little myth story.  
> After she fell in love with a human hero and spent a night with him, on her next red moon, Catelyn bled a flower. From which Sansa sprouted as her child. Catelyn kept her and raised her among forest nymphs. 🌟
> 
> Tadaaah.
> 
> ...unless I already said something else in the last chapter. Who knows guys. Don't get me on details 😆


End file.
